


two way reflection

by sparrow_bird (DramaQkin)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU, Gen, Horror, Light Angst, No plot just strangeness, Osamu Centric, Something Isn't Quite Right, Surreal horror, Surrealism, character exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramaQkin/pseuds/sparrow_bird
Summary: Osamu knew something wasn't right the moment he gained his senses. His brother agreed with him from behind the mirror.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	two way reflection

“You were supposed to have a twin,” said Granny. She liked to say random things, his mother said, but he liked to listen to her anyway. “Osamu. Did your mother tell you that?”

“Nu-uh.” Osamu swung his legs under the table. His granny had an antique table made of old carved wood. There was a pane of glass on it, kept so clean that Osamu could see both of his reflections clearly on it. He closed his eyes for a moment. “He told me. Atsumu says he ain’t mad.”

Granny clicked her tongue. “We have to fix that accent of yours.  _ Isn’t _ , Osamu. Say it clearly.”

_ Ain’t _ , insisted his reflection. 

*

By the time Osamu was ten, he was used to seeing two of himself in the mirror. Atsumu looked exactly like him, save for the way he did his hair. He usually didn’t do much except to talk to Osamu or watch him. 

“Yer taking  _ so _ long,” complained Atsumu. No matter how loud his voice got, only Osamu heard him. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “Yer gonna miss warm ups.”

_ Shut up. If I don’t wash my hands right Granny says I might get sick. _ Osamu had learned long ago that talking to his twin out loud was never a good idea. It worried Granny and made people look at him weird. Atsumu seemed to hear him just fine, anyway. 

Outside, they passed by a cool-looking volleyball player. Osamu gasped the same time Atsumu did. 

“So cool…” said Osamu out loud. 

_ I heard about him! Ojiro Aran.  _

“Aran...sounds foreign.” 

_ Right? What if we changed our names to sound cool like that? ‘Tsumu and ‘Samu. _

Osamu hummed.  _ Granny would be sad if we changed our names.  _

*

Sometimes, Osamu wished he could pull Atsumu out of the reflective surfaces he liked to show up in just to punch him in the face. The older they got, the more they disagreed, and more than once in his twelve years Osamu thought about punching a mirror. 

They often fought, as siblings do, about stupid things. But Osamu was certain that this fight was a bit more serious. They were always serious when it came to volleyball. 

“I wanna be a setter!”

“Lame,” countered Osamu. “I’m going to be a spiker because that’s cool.” 

“Setters do everything,” insisted Atsumu. He looked like he was leaning close to the edge of the mirror. “Support! Two is better than one!”

Osamu was tired of this. “There’s only one of us, idiot.”

“That ain’t fair,” said Atsumu darkly. “That ain’t fair at all.”

When Osamu woke up the next morning, he was alone in the mirror, and his brother’s voice was absent from his mind. 

*

On his first day in Inarizaki High, the seat next to him was empty. Empty until his brother decided to waltz into his classroom, walk through his classmates, and sit. 

“Yo.”

_ Why are ya here? _

“I can’t hear ya, ‘Samu.” He only stared. His brother was outside the confines of a mirror, flesh and blood beside him. Atsumu laughed. No one in class turned to look. “I’m kidding, I hear ya loud and clear. I just think,”

_ Ya don’t. _

“That I deserve to have my ideas heard.”

_ What the fuck-- _

“I’m not gonna possess ya or do anything freaky like in the movies, geez.” Atsumu leaned back in his chair as if in thought. “I just think ya should do something with yer hair.”

_ If I do that _ , thought Osamu,  _ would ya get out of my class?  _

Atsumu smiled sleazily and nodded. 

*

The bleach was a tad too strong. It lightened Osamu’s hair to a deep gold, but at the cost of the softness of his hair. It felt stiff and brittle when he ran his fingers through it.

He did this as he ate his lunch at the top of the stairwell. He tried to ignore his brother snickering beside him. 

“This was yer idea. Will ya shut yer trap and let me eat lunch in peace?” Osamu was certain they were alone and spoke to his brother out loud. Now that he wasn’t confined to being a reflection, Osamu could almost convince himself that Atsumu was whole and breathing. He wanted to smack him upside the head. 

Atsumu was quiet, busy peeking at the gap between stairwells. 

“I’m gonna join the volleyball club.”

“Duh.”

“I’m gonna be a spiker.”

“Whatever,” replied Atsumu. “If the team’s any good, yer gonna have to learn how to set anyway.” 

He wanted to ask Atsumu if he was still mad about how things were unfair. But siblings don’t talk about dumb shit like that. If Atsumu was mad Osamu knew he would not shut up about anything. There was a day in their childhood where Atsumu threw a tantrum and cried and cried and cried. Only Osamu heard him. Even when he threw his biggest pillow over his ears nothing happened.

*

The team was good. Osamu learned how to set. He kept his hair gold all throughout the year. 

*

In his second year at the volleyball club Atsumu walked into the court. He’d somehow gotten a hold of the maroon jacket of their school. 

No one turned to look. Only Osamu craned his neck and looked at the door, wide-eyed. 

It took Osamu a moment to process why looking at his brother sent chills up his spine. 

There was nothing different between them now. From the color of his hair, to his height, the way he held himself; they were identical. Save for that sleazy, almost dopey smile he plastered on his face. 

He walked to Osamu casually, like he was showing off. Osamu followed him with his eyes, until Atsumu was in front of him. 

_ I’ll knock that grin off yer face if you mess this up for me.  _

Atsumu said nothing and clapped a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Osamu shivered. He swore he felt his brother’s hand. 

“Something wrong, Miya?” Kita had walked over to him. 

“Nothing, captain. Sorry.” 

Atsumu did nothing but stand at the sidelines and watch while everyone else played. He cheered for the members of the volleyball club, giving a few side comments when he could. He even called people by name. 

_ This is  _ my _ team _ , thought Osamu. My _ friends _ . 

The act of thinking was enough to make Osamu mess up his serve. 

“Don’t mind,” cheered Aran. 

“Nah, he should mind. That was a shit serve!” jeered Atsumu from beside him.

Osamu threw a glare at Atsumu’s direction but found nothing but empty air. Aran's smile wavered, but he said nothing. Osamu mumbled an apology. 

*

When Osamu kicked his brother in the shin it felt worryingly real. He would have stopped and worried if he wasn’t trying to beat the hell out of the paradox that was his brother in his room. 

“Get out of my club and stop talking to my friends!”

“Wha--” Atsumu dodged a kick “--they’re my friends, too!” 

“They don’t know ya, shitpig. They only talk to me.” 

His brother caught a punch with his shoulder. “Why, what’s the difference now between you and me?” 

That made Osamu pause. “I’m real.” 

“And that ain’t fair. I wanna play volleyball.”

“Too bad.”

“Not for long, ‘Samu. I’m going to make it fair. It’s gonna be fair and I get to play volleyball and be a setter.”

“What are ya, a baby? Yer gonna possess me like the movies just so you could play volleyball?” 

Atsumu shook his head. “I told ya I ain’t going to do nasty stuff like that.” There was a terrifying determination in his brother’s eyes. Perhaps that’s what made him persist through the years, becoming something not quite a ghost yet not quite real. He was very real now, though. “I wanna play volleyball for half as long as you’ve been living.”

“What about me? I don’t wanna play volleyball after highschool. And since I’m real, I’m sure as hell better than you.”

“Ya don’t get a choice, same as I did. It’s only fair ‘Samu.”

A knock snapped them out of their bickering. His mother peeked her head through the door. “Who ya talking to, dear?” 

Osamu gulped. “No one?”

“Well, if that’s all done come down to dinner, Atsumu.” 

“Fair’s fair,” said Atsumu. He got up and closed the door behind him, leaving Osamu alone in the room. 

*


End file.
